But your love remains true
by geekysparkle
Summary: "It's nearly noon when Gokudera, true to his flame, storms into Yamamoto's office. He's livid and upset and it crosses Yamamoto's mind that maybe he should have woken him up in the morning after all." Gokudera overworks himself (again), Yamamoto worries and maybe they're okay. Heads up for Gokudera's foul mouth, sick character and unhealthy lifestyles.


**A wild ultimate OTP appears! No but really, 8059 is, like,** ** _the thing_** **. Ignore my babbling.**

XxX

Gokudera is hands down the most stressed person Yamamoto has ever encountered. They're nineteen years old and he's had two ulcers, insomnia for years (probably before they even met five years ago) and a serious painkiller addiction (thank God that's over), and Yamamoto is fairly sure the other boy is well on his way working himself into a mental institute.

Gokudera is also incredibly stubborn and constantly pissed off, so there's not much Yamamoto can do to help. His options are limited to rubbing shoulders, having sex and making sure Gokudera doesn't skip meals or sleep, and though he knows Gokudera is grateful for those, he wishes he could do more.

At times, an opportunity presents itself in a form of some awful bug attacking Gokudera's virtually non-existent immune system. For someone who holds his ability to work in such high regard, Gokudera gets sick ridiculously often. Yamamoto himself caught a cold maybe two or three years ago and hasn't been sick since, but Gokudera is confined to bed at least five times a year and often more. He never gets just colds, no, Gokudera Hayato gets the flu, a random stomach bug no one else gets, the flu again, then he collapses from overwork and spends a week not being able to lift a finger, then he has tonsillitis and then it's the ulcer's turn again.

It's not like Yamamoto is surprised to wake up to his boyfriend falling out of bed and vomiting on the floor. It's not the first time and it probably won't be the last, but it doesn't make it any less worrying. Yamamoto rolls to Gokudera's side of the bed and drops to the floor next to him. Gokudera is in a loose fetal position, arms around his stomach, coughing and retching up water and half-digested pills. Aspirin, Yamamoto would say if he had to guess. And nothing else, absolutely nothing else, and Yamamoto realizes that either Gokudera hasn't been eating again or he's thrown up after his last meal. Neither of the options sounds particularly pleasant.

Yamamoto is pretty sure that Gokudera isn't fully aware of what's happening. His eyes are wide open but there's a dazed, glassy look in them. Definitely feverish.

Gradually, the fit comes to an end, but Gokudera makes effort to move except for curling up a little tighter and reaching for his head. A whimper gets Yamamoto moving, too - it's the single sound he hates the most on this planet, beating the pained screaming and the exhausted screaming and the hurt screaming and literally everything else ten to zero. Yamamoto's hands find Gokudera's frail shoulders and lift him up to lean on his chest. Gokudera's breath comes in short, labored gasps as he slumps against Yamamoto and then pulls his knees to his chest.

"That bad, huh?" Yamamoto asks, voice soft and empathetic. He's seen this before, but it doesn't make it any easier. Slowly, he starts rubbing circles on Gokudera's stiff shoulders, lightly at first. Gokudera barely nods, instead bringing his long, scarred fingers to massage his temples. There are some new scars, again, and in the t-shirt Gokudera is wearing Yamamoto can see the burn marks along his forearms. The clock on the nightstand is showing nearly five in the morning.

They spend a while on the floor, silent, until Yamamoto gently nudges Gokudera up and tucks him into bed. He cleans up before turning Gokudera's alarm clock off and going back to sleep himself.

When he wakes up a few hours later, Gokudera is fast asleep and looking more peaceful than Yamamoto has seen him in ages. He plants a soft kiss on his boyfriend's forehead - the fever is definitely still there - before getting up. It's a Saturday so they don't have much to do, but he wants to catch up on a few things and maybe check on their newer members, though most of them are older than him. Schoolwork is also calling, because apparently you can't escape university even when you're a core member of one of the most influential mafia families in the world.

It's nearly noon when Gokudera, true to his flame, storms into Yamamoto's office. He's livid and upset and it crosses Yamamoto's mind that maybe he should have woken him up in the morning after all, but then he starts noticing other things too. The disheveled state of his hair, the way his shirt is buttoned wrong, the dark shadows under his eyes against the ghostly pallor of his skin. The fact that his hands are shaking.

"What the fuck, Takeshi!" Gokudera hollers from the door that he just threw open. His voice is raspy and breath short, and he leans on the door frame heavily. Yamamoto scrambles up from his desk and hurries to Gokudera. "Didn't bother to wake me up, huh? _And you turned my fucking alarm off_? I have work to do," he snarls as Yamamoto gets close enough.

"But Hayato, you're sick. And you needed the sleep, you haven't been getting enough," Yamamoto tries to explain as calmly as possible. He doesn't step as close as he'd like to, because if Gokudera is feeling confrontational he'll get pissed by anything, including Yamamoto's superior height. "You were up most of last night, too."

Gokudera grits his teeth in irritation.

"Do you think that I do it _willingly_? Do you honestly think I _enjoy_ staring at stacks of paper and tutoring snotty grade schoolers all day?" He takes a step forward, right into Yamamoto's personal space, and cranes his neck enough so that his turquoise eyes are staring right into Yamamoto's brown ones. Yamamoto takes a step back in turn.

"Well guess fucking what, I _don't_! But nobody else is doing it, so someone has to!" Gokudera takes a step back, himself, before starting to walk a circle. His arms are flailing in frustration, and Yamamoto decides that maybe it's best for him to let him have his rant.

"I mean, thank God for you and the 10th for doing your job, but we have a fucking _ten-year-old_ and then we have the lawn-head and then we have fucking _Hibari_ , don't even get me fucking started on _him_ …! Oh and we have new members and I have university and… then…" Gokudera's steps slow down with his speech until he stops completely, eyes staring listlessly at nothing as if he'd just forgotten what he was talking about. Yamamoto frowns.

"Takeshi, you know," Gokudera starts again, voice suddenly feeble and high-pitched. He swallows convulsively and his face goes even paler, alarming Yamamoto who quickly walks up to the shorter boy. "I don't… I think, I… I'm not…"

"Hayato? What is it?" Yamamoto asks, trying to keep himself calm. He places his hand carefully on Gokudera's forehead, and Gokudera leans onto his touch. Not surprising, Yamamoto tells himself, considering that the fever feels quite impressive.

Gokudera's hand reaches for Yamamoto's wrist, gripping it tight. Yamamoto seeks Gokudera's other hand to hold, intertwining their fingers. Gokudera is shaking and swaying on his feet.

"I'm gonna pass out," Gokudera announces in a thin, airy breath, just before his eyes roll to the back of his head and his grip goes slack. There's a moment of terror when Yamamoto thinks he's gonna fall and hit his head and he won't be able to catch him in time, that somehow he'll fuck this up really bad.

Yamamoto catches him before he's anywhere near the ground. His reflexes are unrivalled among the majority of the population and surpassed by very, _very_ select few people and he knows that, but somehow, when it comes to Gokudera, he still doubts himself at times. He has this overwhelming need to protect him, and sometimes Gokudera makes it damn hard. And it's ridiculous, really, because Gokudera is perfectly capable of holding his own on the battlefield and he's terrifyingly intelligent, but his utter neglect of his well being in favor of getting three people's work done is astounding.

He gets Gokudera on the floor with ease and turns him on his side. In just a few seconds, thank the gods, Gokudera blinks awake, sluggish and a little disoriented.

"You're staying in bed today," Yamamoto declares as soon as he's sure Gokudera is actually conscious. His tone leaves no room for questions, but Gokudera tries, anyway.

"Am not," he grumbles, sitting up slowly. The movement isn't kind to him, but he tries to ignore it to the best of his ability. "I have work to do and it's not gonna do itself." The genuine distress in Gokudera's voice over paperwork hurts Yamamoto's heart, because the fact that Gokudera still feels the need to validate himself through his accomplishments is just _sad_. It reminds him so much of when they were in middle school and Gokudera was ready to throw his life away in a fraction of a second just to prove himself and his loyalty and ability. The fourteen-year-old Gokudera Hayato who had absolutely no interest in keeping his own life if dying meant he could be useful.

He still sees that sometimes.

"You'll be able to do it better when you're healthy, okay? Hey, I'll take some of your paperwork, yeah? And you go to sleep." Yamamoto's gentle voice, admittedly laced with a little bit of his flame, tends to work miracles. It does nothing to alleviate Gokudera's obvious anxiety over the matter.

"No, you don't get it, I have a schedule -"

"I know you have a schedule."

"- and I'm so _behind_ on it and -"

"You're not, by the way."

"- then there's, there's, wait, what?" Gokudera's eyes snap to Yamamoto at the speed of light.

"I've seen your schedule, okay?" Yamamoto explains. "And I promise you, you're not behind. I know you like to do everything a few days ahead, but you can afford to take a day off."

For a moment, Gokudera's posture goes defensive, but it deflates quickly. He takes a deep, shuddering breath and seems to finally succumb to his exhaustion, and Yamamoto sighs in relief. He hates arguing with Gokudera, even more so when the other is this stressed. He knows Gokudera hates it, too, which makes him hate it even more. He's never really understood why two people who hate fighting fight.

"Okay," Gokudera breathes. "Okay. But you're carrying me back to bed. I don't... think I can walk back." He admits it with a rather embarrassed voice, averting his eyes as if he thought it was somehow shameful. Yamamoto resists the urge to start telling him how there's nothing to be embarrassed about and it's just a two of them.

"We can work with that," he says instead. Slowly and steadily he drags Gokudera up, watching out for signs of dizziness gonna-pass-outs. The change in altitude drains the color from his face, but Gokudera bites his lip until he's safely in Yamamoto's arms.


End file.
